Welcoming Party
by ProfessorHojotheGEN-I-US
Summary: Buccellati/Mista, Giorno/Mista. It wasn't hard for Giorno to become a member of Passione. All the members seemed nice enough, nothing he couldn't handle. What he didn't expect was his feelings to surface so clearly that fateful night, and that could be a problem.


A/N: I really, really like Giorno/Mista, and I just can not find enough of it. So here, have a story.

It's rated M for a _reason._ Please keep this in mind while you're reading, thank you.

* * *

**Welcoming Party**

* * *

He had been let into the gang easily enough, as soon as Buccellati realized that their intentions were similar. Bruno Buccellati was a nice enough young man, Giorno mused, as he led them to an undisclosed location where he'd be meeting some of the other members of Passione. Though he probably should've been a little wary, the blonde haired man was calm; calm through the drive over, calm as he walked up the stairs, grabbed the door knob, followed Buccellati inside.

Probably, in part, due to the fact that the small gang's leader seemed to be comfortable with him, but Giorno wasn't one to be easily riled up. If he continued to keep a cool head and stay alert of where he was and who he was meeting, then he had nothing to fear. His one goal in mind pushing him forward, allowing him to calmly and assertively nod his head in compliance when asked by Buccellati if he was ready to enter the small room.

"Alright then," the darker haired man replied, a tiny smile on his lips, "After you."

**-x-o-x-**

Giorno could hear from outside the door the back and forth of excited chattering and near squabbling. When the door was opened and he stepped inside, the young man could finally start putting voices to faces. A tall, almost angry looking young man sat in his chair, sipping what Giorno guessed to be an espresso. He didn't so much as give the two entering a second look, as his attention seemed to be focused on what was taking place at the very table he was sitting at.

A scrawny young man with wild hair whined loudly as he shook a bloody fork in his hand, blood also trailing down his face from the mess of hair. A lighter haired man with a mess of holes polka-dotting his clothes ignored the frustrated youth behind him and seemed to be fending off furious questions from another man. This new one seemed to be screaming something about cake and numbers, his deep, dark eyes narrowed in anger.

So, these men were the members of Passione, his new team, who he would be teaming up with and risking his life with. _Depending_ on.

Charming.

Bruno Buccellati didn't seem phased as he cleared his throat, effective in ceasing all prior commotion, "Everyone, this is Giorno Giovanna. From this day forward, he is a member of our gang. Treat him as such."

Some faces looked pleased, others confused, and some angrier still. No matter, these young men were of no consequence to Giorno, and he could, frankly, care less if they liked him or not. He would gain their respect in time, as he should. He was going to be the leader of the entire operation, after all.

**-x-o-x-**

Truth be told, Giorno hadn't expected to be thrown a "welcoming party," of sorts. He just didn't think it was something hardened gang members did. Though it was obvious that these men were very comfortable around each other, almost like a big group of brothers. They laughed, they easily joked with each other, but they certainly weren't past mocking and teasing with a bit of rough housing thrown in for good measure.

And when alcohol was brought in, the blonde haired newby was, admittedly, a little taken back. Surely these men weren't old enough to be drinking. Nothing hard, of course, just fine Italian wine. But throw back enough of those, and …

The night got increasingly more exciting after that.

"And you know what, you know what?" Narancia slumped his arms around Fugo's neck, pulling at his tie, now not tied as nice and pristine, "It's just not _nice_ to stab people in the head with forks, _you know?!_"

Fugo sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air, "Narancia, if you would just _listen _to me I wouldn't have to hurt you!"

Narancia gasped loudly, arms also being thrown in the air, "But it hurts so much, Fugo!"

"I know, I know," Fugo turned and took the smaller boy in his arms, holding him tightly to his chest, "My heart hurts for your brain!"

"You always know just what to say!" Narancia mumbled incoherently, tears welling up in both of their eyes as they seemed to be having some kind of moment.

Giorno merely stood against the wall, near a corner. He had been sipping lightly at some wine that was given to him by Buccellati. It would be rude to refuse, and there was no way he was letting his first impression go that sour. And unlike most of his new colleagues, he didn't enjoy becoming black-out drunk.

"I suppose I should probably introduce myself," a deep voice interrupted his thoughts as a dark figure came to stand cautiously beside him.

"You're Abbachio, correct?" Giorno offered, trying to give off the impression that he was paying attention when Buccellati had introduced them all to him earlier.

Abbachio merely gave out of a small grunt in reply, eyes not leaving the two members now crying in each others arms. The smaller man noticed how the man kept his distance, not seeming to really relax as he stood near him.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Giorno questioned, yet in the back of his mind, he already knew the answer.

"No," Abbachio finally replied, the last part of his sentence becoming a low whisper, "I really don't."

"I see," was the only reply the newest member could think to utter. There was no real reason he should be trusting him, of course, but he hadn't done anything to make this man suspicious or wary of him either.

"Don't take it personally," the taller man added, removing himself from his current position. But he didn't get very far when Narancia slammed into him, arms now wrapped tightly around his waist, tears still spilling from his eyes, "Abbachiooooo!"

"Ugh, what, Narancia?!" Abbachio hissed, desperately trying to pry the smaller annoyance off of his person.

"Fugo's being mean!"

"Just tell me what twenty times forty-five is! It's not hard, why do you always forget your training?!"

Giorno chose this moment to excuse himself. He sighed as he rounded a corner to a small hallway, looking back over his shoulder to see the mess unfolding behind him. There was screaming and there was crying, but looking past all that, these men were so comfortable with each other, so trusting of each other enough to semi-lose their senses.

He crossed his arms as he continued his descent down the hallway. How long had they all been together, Giorno hadn't even thought to ask. It wasn't his business to begin with. But as he walked, his face fell slightly, mouth taking on a frown, "I wonder … if I really belong here."

Suddenly, he heard noises further down the hall.

There were various doors lining both sides, with delicate tapestries and exquisite oil paintings hung from the walls. But it was dark, quiet. Save for one room near the end of the hallway, Giorno could see a sliver of light pouring out from behind the cracks of the not fully shut doorway. And, curiosity getting the better of him, the blonde haired man teen crept along the length of the hall, the noises from the main room where the "party" had begun becoming nothing more than a dull whisper.

Nearing the door, Giorno saw the remnants of empty wine bottles scattered along the floor. And the voices from inside became louder, more heavy.

"B-Buccellati, ah …!"

The young man's heart stopped in his chest. He stood right next to the door now, contemplating whether or not to take a quick peek. And all the sounds seemed to become louder, almost like he was right there. Reverberating in his ear drums, causing his whole body to shake.

He shouldn't look, but … he couldn't stop himself.

Keeping his breathing as steady as he possibly could, Giorno Giovanna grabbed tightly with one hand onto the door frame as he peered inside. And try as he might, a small gasp escaped from his lips.

Bruno Buccellati, his new boss, was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping desperately to the sheets while the other clung harshly to a naked thigh. His face was streaked with pleasure, hair sticking to his sweat gleamed face, as he bit his bottom lip lightly, eyes glancing up into the person above him.

The person was the other member of Passione; Guido Mista.

Pants and boots long forgotten, Mista was clinging to Buccellati's shoulders as he forced himself repeatedly on their boss's erection. Shirt was pulled up over his chest, which clearly showed red marks from teeth littering his body. Moans and sighs and near screams tearing at his throat as Giorno watched, his own face beginning to form sweat.

He was suddenly infatuated.

The way Mista's ass moved up and down, his butt cheeks firm and smooth. The contour of his back as he leaned backward just enough to position himself better. The way his fingers gripped the boss's suit, the way his toes curled, the sound of his moans, and the look on his face with every thrust. Mouth opened wide, lips and tongue glistening; eyes squeezed shut as his cheeks were stained a deeper crimson.

He wanted to touch him. Every single part of this man. Giorno's fingers jerked at the thought, throat becoming dry as his mouth opened and closed lightly. His stomach did flips every time Mista made a sound, and he could feel his pants becoming quite tight.

Eyes were focused completely on his newest comrade, but something in Giorno's mind was tugging at him, wanting him to look away. But surely his mind was confused, the blonde haired man mused to himself, eyes going wider as he watched; he wanted nothing more than to watch this, to take it all in.

And then Bruno thrust up roughly, causing Mista to scream unabashed, his body hugging tightly to the man beneath him as he buried his head into the nook of his neck, sounds becoming muffled. But it wasn't until that moment that Giorno turned his attention away and noticed eyes staring right back at him.

His blood ran cold as Giorno matched Buccellati's staring with his own. He was caught, it was obvious. Yet even though the newest member's body screamed at him, told him to run, told him to move his damn legs and get out of there _now_ … he stayed.

It seemed like an eternity. Blue eyes staring into each other, reading each other. But the boss was good, too good, and he continued to thrust upwardly into Mista who screamed in pleasured and writhed around in the purest delight, eyes never leaving Giorno's.

And it wasn't until Mista forced out a loud, "Ah, f-fuck! … Bruno, ahhh!" that the blonde haired newby was released from his tortuous stare off with the boss. Spinning on a heel, he dashed frantically out to the main room, sounds from the bedroom vanishing into his ears, light from where the others were coming into focus.

But try as he might, Giorno couldn't shake Bruno Buccellati's stare. Or the small smile that was clearly spread across his lips.

**-x-o-x-**

He had actually fallen asleep rather quickly, considering the circumstances. Giorno couldn't remember all that was said, but he had chatted briefly with Fugo and Narancia before they showed him to his room. He didn't see Buccellati nor Mista for the rest of the evening, which was definitely for the best.

The dim light entering the window was warm on his cheek as the youngest member forced his eyes open, blinking away the sleepiness. It was quiet within the entire residence, so even the creaking of the floor boards seemed abrasive as Giorno crept out of bed. Not entirely caring to check the time, the blonde made his way to the bathroom and proceeded to get ready for the day.

In the shower, he went over and over how the confrontation with his new boss would go. What would he say? Would Buccellati be mad? There was no way to tell, and no amount of self-assuring was going to make him feel better. Giorno was caught sneaking around in places he probably shouldn't have been. But he was a man, and men needed to confront their problems, not run away from them.

Putting some finishing touches on his hair, Giorno then proceeded to adjust his suit and peered at his watch, "Hmm, eight in the morning. Maybe no one's up yet."

The place was still silent as the young man made his way for the small kitchen area, his breath catching immediately in his throat when he saw Abbachio sitting at the table, enjoying some coffee, and Buccellati, who upon seeing him, greeted him with a warm smile, "Ah, good morning, Giorno."

His blood was pounding in his ears as Giorno made his way to an empty seat and sat down awkwardly. Trying to be as nonchalant and normal as possible, he must've failed judging by the glances the two other men gave each other.

"Would you … like some coffee?" Buccellati asked, the tone in his voice hard to read.

"I would, thank you," Giorno nodded in agreement, eyes focused firmly on the tabletop. He was already on edge enough that he didn't need the caffine, but far be it from him to pass Buccellati up on his offer, especially when he hadn't been able to assess his mood yet. Best to not offend him straight away in the morning.

Abbachio and Bruno continued on with their conversation for a bit as the darker haired man prepared another batch of coffee for Giorno and himself, plus the other members of the gang who hadn't made their way out of bed yet.

A chair scrapping across the floor caused Giorno to look up and see that Abbachio was done with his morning routine and about to leave the area. Which would cause him and Buccellati to be in the same room with each other. Completely alone.

"Oh, are you done?" Giorno inquired, standing up as well.

"Um, yes," Abbachio gave the newest member a strange look before turning to their boss who could only shrug his shoulders, "I have things to do, you know."

"Yes, of course," the youngest member replied, sitting back down. He was acting foolish, and what was worse, suspicious. Abbachio already didn't trust him, but now he was giving him reason to.

With a slight clearing of his throat, the already wary member of the gang took his leave, his footsteps fading as he made his way down the hall.

**-x-o-x-**

His heart was racing. He could feel Buccellati's eyes on him. He didn't feel like he was in danger, however, and when he was given his coffee, Giorno pressed it to his lips and began to drink nervously.

Bruno sat down with his own cup gracefully, barely making any noise when he drank. The silence between them grew increasingly more unbearable until finally the darker haired man spoke, "You like him."

Giorno's hands gripped his coffee tighter when the words left his bosses lips. A small chuckle escaped from between his teeth, "Excuse me?"

Buccellati merely sat back in his chair and smiled lightly, "Mista. You like him, don't you?"

The newest member said nothing as he continued to drink his coffee, eyes focused on everything else but the man sitting not even three feet away from him.

"I saw the way you were looking at him last night," the darker haired man continued, taking a small drink from his cup, "And I saw you long before you saw me staring at you. It was … sort of endearing, Giorno."

At the mention of his name, Giorno was compelled to finally look into the eyes of Buccellati once more. They held no malice, no resentment. In way they looked sort of … amused.

"He is rather fun, isn't he?" the boss pressed on, a hand now pressed to his chin in fond remembrance, "Really gets into it. He lets you know you're doing a good job, haha."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Giorno's question interrupted softly, fingers intertwined and drumming against his hands nervously, coffee long forgotten.

A look of perplexion spread across Buccellati's features. He hummed lightly, obviously trying to find the words. When they came to him, a tiny smile spread across his lips once again, "Because I trust you."

They were laced in mystery, these words that his boss was uttering to him. Trust, he trusted Giorno. That was all fine and dandy, of course, but it didn't really answer his question.

Buccellati caught onto this and chuckled to himself, "Sorry, I suppose that wasn't the answer you were looking for."

"I'm happy that you trust me," the younger member began, brain swimming with questions, "But … how does that pertain to Mista?"

A look of happiness and serenity was hastily replaced with one of seriousness when the boss finally spoke, "These men … I am in charge of all of them. Of their happiness, of their health, of their well-being. But more than that, these men are my family, and I love each and every one of them."

Giorno's expression changed immediately to mirror Buccellati's, taking in his words as he spoke.

"And because of that," Bruno continued, eyes focused, once again, fully on the newest member, "I invest myself within their personal lives. I'm engaged with what they enjoy, what upsets them. And I could never stand to see anybody hurt them. These men have all had interesting, individual pasts, some of them not so happy. So I take it upon myself to see that they are accepted, that they feel loved. And last night ..."

Buccellati took a breath before he continued, eyes now softening, "I saw the look in your eyes … the look of adoration, of appreciation. It was an interesting situation to witness, yes, and perhaps my intuition is wrong, but … I felt your feelings."

"Felt my … feelings," Giorno repeated, trying to process all the things Buccellati was telling him. His eyebrows scrunched together tightly, brain mulling over the words, repeating the phrases.

"And you wanted to know how this related to Mista, yes?" the darker haired man interjected, breaking Giorno's concentration, "I care for him, and, of course, would never want anything bad to happen to him. But … I fear that the one to eventually hurt him … would be me."

" … Buccellati," the name was quietly released from his lips. They sat in silence for a few moments, the residence still not making a sound as the two men conversed.

"And besides," the boss finally smiled sadly, taking another drink of his coffee, "he really seems to have taken a liking to you. I got him to admit to me that he thought you were cute last night."

Giorno's cheeks immediately reddened despite his demeanor of trying to keep himself open but distant. Facing downward, even the newest member couldn't hide the grin that spread quickly across his face, "Ah, I see."

Standing from the table, Buccellati finished his coffee and put the mug into the sink to be cleaned later. As he began his exit from the room, Giorno pipped in, "Then … you and him last night … that was …?"

"I like to keep my men happy," Bruno said with a wink before turning from Giorno and walked elegantly down the long hallway.

"Haha, no arguments here."

**-x-o-x-**

"And Giorno, I would like you to accompany Mista on this mission, please."

Buccellati was in the process of issuing small missions amongst his team. They weren't difficult missions, nothing that would be particularly status inducing or trying, but they had to be done nonetheless.

Last night had been quite the party, but these men were so ready and willing to do what they were bid by Buccellati, it was inspiring.

Giorno smiled to himself when he heard the order. He was good, that boss of his.

"Aha, awesome!" Mista's voice was genuinely happy, as he loaded up his Sex Pistols, "Come on, newby, I'll show you the ropes!"

Guido Mista flashed the blonde a toothy grin, clamping a hand on his shoulder as he did so. When he turned for the entrance, chatting with some of the other members and what their missions were, Giorno glanced over at Bruno who, as he was gathering up some papers, met his gaze and smiled warmly.

"Have fun," he teased, heading for his office.

**-x-o-x-**

They were to track down some drug dealers in the area and thwart their operations. It was a rival gang threatening to invade the rightful Passione districts, but it wasn't well established yet, and the order seemed very straight forward and almost painfully easy. The men listed as key players on this mission didn't look to have Stands or anything of the sort, so taking them down wouldn't be a huge problem.

Huddled on an unsteady rafter in a decrepit warehouse, Giorno and Mista were nearly back-to-back as they struggled to keep their footing on the worn-out wooden structures.

"Pft, some place for a business," Mista mocked, his voice low and on alert, "I'd sure trust buying drugs from a bunch of dudes who used this place as their hide-out."

Giorno chuckled a bit, "It would be nicer if it were a four-star resort."

"Haha, you got that right!" Mista smiled widely, eyes still scanning the darkened entryway for whenever the thugs wanted to show themselves.

The older of the two breathed deeply, humming a low tune to himself. The unidentifiable song drummed against Giorno's back as he leaned against him. Mista was warm, comforting. He smelled a lot like gunpowder, and for some reason, it was terribly intoxicating to the lighter haired man. Breathing in deeply, he took in as much of Mista as he could, closing his eyes and letting himself give in fully to the odd tune and overpowering scent.

And Mista, for his part, never flinched, never tensed. Didn't say a word as he let Giorno rest lightly against him, never missing a note in his made up song.

He would've liked to stay this way forever, but it was at this moment that the rickety door to the warehouse began to creak open, two large shadows spreading across the floor.

"Ha, finally," Mista's voice was low as he spoke, taking his gun from the crotch area of his pants and steadying his aim.

Giorno stiffened as well, feeling a bit angry that these two men interrupted a very pleasing moment.

"I still can't believe we have to use this shitty warehouse."

"Don't worry. Soon enough we'll have all of Passione's territory, and then we can ditch this shit hole."

"True, true!"

The two men began unloading large crates and packages into a dark corner of the warehouse, eyes shifty as they did so.

"Bingo," Mista gave a low laugh, beginning to move across the rafters towards the two men, footsteps careful and silent as he went.

Giorno began to follow behind him, eyes watching both the men below them and the area they were hidden in. The wood was old and unreliable. While he trusted Mista, with every step he took, the boards creaked and bent under his weight, dust falling down where it had gathered in bulk.

And then it happened.

Mista took a step forward and the wood immediately gave way, causing his right leg to go through it with enough force to knock his body forward. Hands didn't even have time to flail for a ledge or other structure as the darker haired member of Passione began falling to the floor beneath them with a sharp, "Damn it!"

"Mista!" Giorno hissed out, trying to grab the man, but it was too late.

The marksman's body went careening into a large, wooden crate, effectively shattering it as his body continued it's descent. Bouncing off another smaller crate, Mista's body finally came to a sharp halt when he hit the cold pavement, a loud gasp of breath escaping from his mouth.

"Ah, s-shit! We've been found out!" one of the rival members screamed, pulling out his gun and shaking in the direction of the sound.

"Calm down!" the other ordered, also pulling out his weapon, "He's just one guy … and he's hurt, see?"

Mista hissed as pain shot throughout his whole body, every nerve seeming to tingle and pulsate. Forcing an eye open, he saw the two men walk over to him cautiously, guns aimed right at his head.

Reaching for his gun, the older member of Passione grasped at nothing but air. Releasing a colorful string of curses when he saw his gun lying a good distance away, Mista forced himself to look at the two men drawing ever closer. And he could clearly see their fear evaporating into smug, conceited looks that pissed him off.

"Oh, Guido Mista, eh? One of Buccellati's boys!" one of the men mused when he could finally make out Mista's features, "I hear you're pretty good with a gun."

Leering, the other man mocked, "Yeah, too bad he seems to have lost his."

Their laughter was cut short when their legs mysteriously gave out from under them, causing them to both fall into a pile on the ground. Cursing as well, both men turned away from Mista to focus on another young man who was currently walking towards them, hair blonde and shining from the small amount of light making it's way into the dusty interior of the warehouse. Gold Experience retracting from his position on the ground to materialize behind Giorno, adding to the shimmering blonde of his master's hair.

"D-damn you!" one of the men spat, both of them aiming their guns at Giorno now.

The shot was fired seamlessly, and in an instant, the rival gang members were back on the ground, now bleeding profusely from their shoulders. As the two men were clutching their bodies and screaming, the newest member of Passione looked up from the pitiful display to gaze at Mista who was holding his gun at the ready, smoke gently pouring from the end of it, Sex Pistols cheering and celebrating.

"Good shot," Giorno smiled, kicking one of the gang members in the head, effectively stopping his incessant shouting.

"Well hey, thanks," Mista sighed, slamming the butt of his gun into the other member, silencing him as well, "Too bad the entrance was utterly pathetic."

"Yeah, it wasn't too pretty," the blonde haired man smiled, wrapping an arm around his team mate's waist to help him up from the floor, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," was he curt answer Mista quickly forced out, eyes staring at the floor, "Let's check on that stuff they brought in."

"Sure," Giorno replied, walking Mista and himself over to the crates and packages. Upon inspection, the cargo was definitely drugs. Whether it was legitimate or a horrendously cheap imitation, the stuff checked out, and the men they apprehended were definitely the one's listed in the mission log.

Straightening himself out, Mista forced a small smile, "Awesome, everything checks out. Good work, partner."

Giorno watched as Mista called Buccellati to have another operative come out and clean up their work and do the write up for the boss. His hand clung tenderly to his side as he spoke, face still etched in slight pain and embarrassment.

"Yeah, we're both good on this end. No … no, we're fine. … Alright, thanks boss. … Yeah, see you soon," the older Passione member hung up the phone and turned towards Giorno, "Ready to go home?"

**-x-o-x-**

"You told me that no one was hurt, Mista," Buccellati's voice was angry, face etched in frustration. When he saw them both walk through the door, Mista looking in rough shape, he immediately ceased whatever task he had been working on and proceeded to scold the marksman.

"I'm fine!" Mista pleaded, eyes turned downward towards the floor, blush spreading across his face from embarrassment, most likely.

"Fine? You're bruised, bleeding … I wouldn't say that you _looked_ fine!"

Mista said nothing as he continued to look at the floor, ashamed. Bruno's own expression softened for a moment before he turned to Giorno, anger returning, "Would _you_ like to tell me what happened?"

"We were on some rafters," the blonde began calmly, trying to ease the situation and take some of the spotlight off of Mista, "and they gave way under our feet and Mista happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Before Buccellati could continue, Mista added, "Before you say anything, boss, Giorno helped me. A lot. If it wasn't for him, I … I would be in a lot rougher shape."

The boss's expression changed quickly to that relief, "I see, well … as long as you're alright, Mista."

"Fine, fine," the marksman stretched tiredly, taking off his cap, "Just injured my pride, is all."

Both Giorno and Buccellati chuckled lightly, and, giving a small nod, Bruno sighed, "Good job, you two. Now go get cleaned up."

**-x-o-x-**

Giorno followed Mista up the stairs to their living quarters and watched as Mista turned directly into his room and flopped on his bed face first. The wounds from the fall were not as bad as they had first looked, or sounded for that matter, but he was still scratched up and bruising. No doubt falling in front of Giorno, the new guy, was embarrassing, but it wasn't his fault entirely. The warehouse was so run down, Giorno would be shocked if no one got hurt.

And he almost went to his room, almost didn't say a word and left Mista to himself, but … something was telling him to go inside.

So he did.

Clicking the door closed behind him, he heard Guido Mista let out a small moan as he flipped around, a surprised expression on his face upon seeing Giorno standing there.

"Oh, uh … hey, Giorno," the darker haired man spoke, confusion obvious in his voice.

"Sorry to intrude, but I just wanted to check up on you. I know you're refusing help, but you did fall quite a distance."

Mista's demeanor immediately changed and he turned from Giorno, voice a low rumble, "I keep telling you guys that I'm fine. … and I am, I'm fine."

But Giorno didn't falter and sat on the edge of Mista's bed, staring at the pouting form, eyes shut and mouth turned downward into a large frown.

Mista's room was surprisingly cozy; the bedsheets were haphazardly laying across the bed, pillows thrown all over, blinds pulled down only allowing a little bit of light to shine through. But it looked lived in, looked like the owner truly made it his own. And it made Giorno smile.

Looking along the length of his comrade's body, Giorno noted the mess of deep, dark hair, noticed the richness of the man's skin, how his clothes clung to his body, showing off his not-overly muscular frame. He watched as the muscles worked when he took a breath, watched as the wounds on his body did the same.

Reflexively, Giorno knelt down and licked one of the deeper wounds that was running across Mista's hip.

Eyes opening wide, Mista shot up and backed up to his headboard, "W-what the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm just," Giorno's body moved gracefully along the bed towards Mista, pinning him against the wall and allowing one of his hands to grasp his face lightly while the other gently rubbed along his back towards his hip and over his thigh, "trying to get to know you better."

And the two kissed before they could comprehend what was happening.

Mista's wounds all but forgotten, he wrapped his arms around Giorno's neck and leaned into the kiss deeply, allowing the younger man better access as he crept his tongue into the other's mouth and ran it along the upper pallet and tongue itself.

The moan that escaped from Mista's throat entered Giorno and shook them both, causing the kiss to end suddenly with a wet pop. Their eyes were beginning to glaze over in wanting and desire, Mista's mouth hung open as his breathing increased, Giorno's hands working over every tired muscle.

"G-Giorno," the marksman breathed out huskily, one hand running through the blonde's hair and pulling on it slightly.

It was last night all over again. Hearing Mista pant and moan, watching his body move in a rhythm, but this time … it was his name he was calling, his body he would be clinging too.

This knowledge gave Giorno an overwhelming boost.

Forcing his body against the wall, the younger member of Passione held Mista's wrists tightly with one hand as the other played with a nipple, immediately perky under his touch. The older man groaned deeply, eyes fluttering closed, mouth open with unspoken words playing at his lips.

Reconnecting the kiss, Giorno rubbed his now obvious erection into Mista's, a rough friction generating between the two bodies. Hand leaving his exploration of the man's chest, Giorno snaked his hand down the front of Mista's pants and grabbed his manhood, stroking it.

Mista's head flung backwards, breaking the kiss as he nearly screamed in pleasure, hands twitching and fingers clenching under Giorno's grip.

"O-oh god, Giorno! … hng, don't … don't stop, ah!"

Pulling down Mista's pants just enough, the younger member leaned over his partner's erection and lightly brushed a tongue along the length, teasing and testing the older man. Mista's hips bucked up wildly as he moaned once again, both hands now tangled in Giorno's hair.

"A-ah …!"

Wordlessly, Giorno's mouth consumed the entire length in his mouth, causing Mista's body to shudder beneath him, fingers grasping tightly to his hair, which was now becoming less pristine and much more messy. And even though the thought crossed his mind, he pushed it away just as quickly. He'd take Mista's fingers running through his hair to it being perfectly styled any day.

He could feel Mista's body at the limit, could hear it in his panting, but he didn't want it to end, not yet. He wanted more, _needed_ more. Giorno wanted to relive last night from a different perspective.

"Mista, ride me," Giorno commanded softly pulling down his pants, his own voice wanting to betray him with his groans and sighs.

Kicking off his boots and pants to better adjust himself on top of Giorno, Mista complied silently, breath still coming out in rough gasps, and he lowered himself on top of the newest member, moan instant the minute his cock entered his body.

"Ah! Giorno, oh god!" Mista's eyes rolled into the back of his head when he fully positioned himself on top of the smaller man.

Feeling Mista all around his erection, tight and hot, Giorno's own moans began to echo the man now sliding along his shaft, erection bobbing up and down with each thrust.

His hands went immediately to the curve of his ass, squeezing each cheek and playing with them. They were just as he imagined them last night. Soft, round, completely _perfect._ The way his body arched into him, sweat clinging to every muscle. Hands dug into his shoulders, fingers grasping at whatever they could find for grip.

One of Giorno's hands went back to playing with Mista's nipples, hard and at attention. And he brushed over a mark Buccellati had left from last night, causing the man above him to shudder, which he felt in his manhood.

But the thing Giorno was looking forward to most … Mista's expression. His eyes were rolling into the back of his head, mouth open and lips parting. His expression was incredibly sexy, almost sinfully so. Giorno's named seemed to be the marksman's favorite word at the moment since he was uttering it over and over again between moans, nearly screaming it now as the younger member's hand stroked his erection once again, pleasuring the darker haired man from every angle.

Grabbing the younger man's face, Mista forced a sloppy kiss on the youth, resting his forehead against Giorno's as he came, not being able to muffle the scream of complete pleasure. And at that moment, their eyes met; oceanic blues meeting deep, piercing black and Giorno came instantly, Mista's walls pulsing and tensing as he did so.

They were both completely spent, but didn't move. They continued to stare at each other until their breathing returned to normal, Giorno's hands lazily playing along Mista's back.

"You're pretty cute, new guy," Mista smiled a toothy grin, running his own hands through Giorno's silky blonde hair, intertwining it in his fingers as he did so.

Giorno simply smiled back at him, genuinely and honestly, and pulled the man into his chest. Looking over Mista's shoulder, the newest member noticed that the door was cracked open slightly, and he could see Bruno Buccellati smiling at him, eyes holding a trust and sincerity he saw last night when he was looking at Mista.

And it made Giorno feel wanted, accepted. But most importantly, it made him feel unabashedly happy, and he returned the smile fully.

Turning from the door, Bruno closed it with a small click and began his return to his office, smile not leaving his lips.

* * *

**Welcoming Party**

**-End-**

* * *

A/N: A silly little thing, yes, but I had this idea in my head for a while now, so it felt nice to finally get it in writing. Hopefully, you enjoyed it! Reviews are always appreciated, and thanks for reading!


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